


when the evening is spread out against the sky

by you_idjits



Series: love, in fire and blood [3]
Category: Supernatural
Genre: Bunker Fic, M/M, Post-Season/Series 08, coda to my DCBB, so read that one first?
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-12-01
Updated: 2014-12-01
Packaged: 2018-02-27 19:36:05
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 816
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2703974
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/you_idjits/pseuds/you_idjits
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Cas is knocking over shampoo bottles in the shower, and Dean can't help but think he's getting the hang of this human thing.</p>
            </blockquote>





	when the evening is spread out against the sky

**Author's Note:**

> This is a coda to my [DCBB](http://archiveofourown.org/works/2539790) \- I wasn't quite ready to let go of that 'verse after all the time I spent with it. For new readers, I highly recommend reading the first part of this series before this one.
> 
> Thanks as always to my beta, [Tasha](http://kraziiisme.tumblr.com/).
> 
> I guess I'll be keeping with the poetry lines as titles. For those wondering, this title is from [The Lovesong of J. Alfred Prufrock](http://www.bartleby.com/198/1.html) by T.S. Eliot.
> 
> Crossposted on [tumblr](http://shootingstarcas.tumblr.com/post/104111751966/when-the-evening-is-spread-out-against-the-sky-a)

Cas is knocking over shampoo bottles in the shower.

Dean can hear it from across the Bunker, can hear the loud swearing that follows. He laughs, quietly, and turns the page of his book. “Cas, you okay in there?”

No response, but he figures Cas can take care of himself.

Which is really kind of a new thing for Dean. Letting people take care of themselves. Letting people have their distance. Maybe an old dog can learn new tricks.

He thinks about this for a bit, lets his hands hover over the book. The water turns off, and a few minutes later Cas comes out to the main room. Dean tries not to focus on the way Cas’s damp shirt clings to his chest.

“Hey,” Cas says, rubbing a towel over damp hair. “What are you reading?”

He leans forward, covering the title as casually as possible. “Nothing important. You going off to bed?”

Maybe not as casually as he thought. Cas gets that little wrinkle between his eyebrows. “May I see the book?”

Dean tenses, but there’s not anything he can do about it now. He pushes the book across the table.

A small silence, which turns into a bigger silence, which turns into a dangerous Cas-isn’t-saying-anything silence. Finally, “Dean, why are you looking at this?”

“I just- look, it’s not important, I just thought I’d look around. See if there was anything helpful.”

“For us? For me?”

Dean takes a breath to reply, then hesitates. “Yeah. Yeah, I guess so.”

Cas closes the book. Across the front, in dark gold lettering, reads _On Recovering a Fallen Angel’s Grace._ He found it when he was in the archives earlier today; it’s by some old Man-of-Letters from the sixteenth century. Totally useless so far, but. Well. He didn’t want Cas to see that he was looking into it, not until he was certain it held promise.

“Dean,” Cas says, low and careful the way he used to talk about the Apocalypse, “I don’t want this.”

“Cas. Cas, come on, man. We can find it. Maybe Metatron didn’t use it all when he, you know. Maybe some of it fell. Maybe there’s some big-ass oak tree out there, like with Anna’s, and we can just-”

“ _Dean_. I don’t want this.” It’s not that he looks angry – it’s something gentler than that, but with hard edges. Dean waits for him to say more. “I don’t need to be an angel again.”

Dean thinks he knows what Cas is saying, but he doesn’t like it. That doesn’t make sense. “Cas, you’re gonna die. I mean. Not right now, but someday. Being human, it’s not – you know it’s not – it sucks, okay? I don’t want that for you. Not permanently. Not if we can find-”

“No,” Cas says. “No. This is my choice.”

Dean thinks about that for a while. He thinks about how Cas knocked shampoo bottles over in the shower. He’s not an angel anymore. He hasn’t been, not really, for a long time.

“You don’t want to go back,” Dean says.

Cas rakes a hand through his wet hair. “I’m tired, Dean. I just want to be here now.”

“Okay,” Dean says – what else could he say? That’s enough, dammit, of course that’s enough. Maybe Dean doesn’t understand that, not really, but he likes it, he wants it.

“And I want to go to bed. Come on.” Cas reaches out a hand, maybe for Dean’s. They go to Dean’s room.

They undress in the darkness of the room, down to boxers and t-shirts, and they slide into bed together. This is a routine now. This is what they do. Dean hasn’t looked too far into it, hasn’t tried to push the limits. He doesn’t think he has the energy for that. Sam hasn’t noticed and they’re not saying anything. It’s not important, but it feels important.

Dean doesn’t let Cas hold him much – sometimes, after nightmares – but they lie together, in the middle of the wide bed. Cas rolls onto his side and stares at Dean through the darkness, for one long minute.

“Cas,” Dean sighs. “Go to sleep.”

Cas reaches out a hand, slowly enough that Dean could bat it away if he wanted to. He doesn’t. Cas brushes his knuckles on Dean’s cheek. He doesn’t say anything. Dean stays still, holds his breath even, lets his eyes slide closed. This is the most intimate they ever get – in the moments before sleep, when the darkness makes them sentimental.

His fingers seek out Dean’s pulse, a little fumbling, between the lines of his jaw and his neck. Dean doesn’t flinch at this kind of thing, not anymore. When Cas pulls away, turns onto his back, their shoulders press together. It’s kind of nice. It’s kind of human.

“Goodnight, Dean,” Cas says. His hair will leave a damp spot on Dean’s pillow in the morning.

“’Night, Cas.”


End file.
